


The Other Winchester

by whichstiel



Series: Season 14 Codas [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunkers, Episode Tag, Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, M/M, Prophet and Loss, episode coda, spn 14x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 04:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17655989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Cas and Dean share a late night conversation.





	The Other Winchester

> **To:** hunter.list@mol-dns.net
> 
> **BCC:** [castiel1383510385@gmail.com](mailto:castiel1383510385@gmail.com)
> 
> **Subject:** Update 2/1/2019
> 
>  
> 
> It’s been a busy week, everyone! 
> 
>  
> 
> **APB:**
> 
> There are rumors of a pack of super-werewolf truckers working truck stops along I-80. Nothing confirmed. Continue to keep ears to the ground.
> 
> Report any Reaper encounters to HQ. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Wins:**
> 
> Jessica’s team got to the heart of a large ghoul infestation in Portland. Just cleaning up strays now.
> 
> Boris and Zora took out a nest of vamps in Tennessee. Great job!
> 
>  
> 
> **Losses:**
> 
> Castiel transferred the blue Prius to Donatello to get him home. No ETA yet for recovery.
> 
>  
> 
> **Alerts:**
> 
> The loaded trailer parked in space A32 is Do Not Disturb. Status: fragile; Value: vital. See SW with questions.

 

Castiel flicks his thumb up his screen, scrolling through Sam’s terse weekly email. There’s nothing overtly worrisome in it - not to most of the readers, anyway. In comparison to recent weeks, it’s downright uneventful. There’s nothing about the horrific promise of the box sitting quietly on the trailer in the garage. It’s presented as though it’s just another artifact to store in the bunker. A weapon to deploy against Michael and not something that will torture the man he—

Castiel wants to destroy it.

He wants to tear it apart with his bare hands, melt it with his grace, and rend it into hunks of metal so unrecognizable as to be utterly useless to ever contain an archangel. Anger bubbles in his gut and if he has to direct it somewhere, it might as well be to the fine work of destroying Dean’s proposed cage. 

He presses his thumb on the sleep button on his phone and when the screen goes black, Castiel slots it back into his inner coat pocket. He shifts in his seat and looks around at the sea of books and stone tablets stacked across the wide table. While Sam prepared to return with Dean and his damned ma’lak box, Castiel went through the bulk of the useful library tomes, with the sarcastic aid of Rowena. Now that the Winchesters have returned, Sam has dived back into research - a second pair of eyes, to see if there was anything Castiel missed. Their search has yielded no fruit. 

Castiel wants to channel the frustration into a fist or the destructive arc of a blade. He wants to stride the world, a burning sword personified, until he finds an answer. There’s only one thing that stops him: terror. Terror, that if he leaves the bunker then Dean will do it. He’ll lock himself away while Castiel is gone leaving nothing - no goodbyes, all words unsaid, and only regrets between them. 

The bunker’s lights are low in the very early morning hours; a rare time of quiet. A shadow moves in the mouth of the hallway and he hears the faint sound of fabric against fabric. Dean emerges through the doorway moments later. His shoulders are hunched and one hand is pressed over his eyes, forefinger and thumb pushing against the bridge of his nose. 

Castiel swallows hard. Flexes his fingers at his side so he can prevent himself from clenching them into fists. He and Dean still haven’t finished their conversation from the hospital. Part of Castiel thinks there’s no point to it. Dean prefers the absence of goodbyes - or maybe they’ve had too many between them that they needn’t be marked by new declarations anymore. 

He shakes his head. _No. That’s not— That’s not true._ He clears his throat and says, “Dean.” 

Dean stops short, halfway to the map table, and looks up. In the split second between the removal of his hand and meeting Castiel’s eye, his expression smooths to bland surprise. “Hey.” His tone is cooler, detached. 

“You’re up early.”

Dean snorts a little, brows jumping. “Yeah,” he says in a way that tells Castiel he hasn’t slept at all.

Castiel pushes up from the table and says with a sudden flash of inspiration, “Since you’re awake, I could use your help.” 

Dean eyes the mess of books on the table and seems to actually turn a little green. “Yeah, man. I don’t—“

“With the dishes,” Castiel says quickly. “You can help me with the dishes.”

Dean stops mid-stride and turns toward Castiel with a look of open puzzlement. “I thought Porter and…“ He trails off, gaze suddenly a hundred miles away. His eyebrows furrow down towards his nose, just a little. He looks like he’s dealing with a momentary flash of migraine. _Michael,_ Castiel thinks, and with that he’s ready to burn down the world again.

“Angelina?” Castiel supplies.

Dean’s focus snaps back to Castiel and the cloud lifts as quickly as it fell. “Yeah. Porter and Angelina. Weren’t they on kitchen duty tonight?”

Castiel pushes down the swell of quiet fondness he has at Dean’s perfect knowledge of the bunker’s chore rotation. “They were but, ah, other plans took precedence.” 

Dean sighs with irritation as their paths converge and they walk shoulder-to-shoulder towards the kitchen. “What’s the point of making a schedule if nobody sticks to it?” he asks the wall sconces. 

“Well,” Castiel scratches at the back of his neck. “They, uh, ‘got together’ tonight and retired to one of their rooms.” He’d seen them leave, clothing distressed and stifling giggles. 

Dean freezes in his tracks and swivels to Castiel with a satisfied, “Ha!” He pumps one fist in the air and then notices Castiel’s nonplussed look. “Sam owes me fifty bucks. I knew they were a thing!” he crows, like a man who might actually have a future. Suddenly jovial, he elbows Castiel as they enter the kitchen together. The kitchen is a mess, with plates, cups, and stacks of silverware taking up one side of the long, industrial counters. “Guess that’s one advantage of not sleeping.”

“What? Cleaning?” Castiel shucks his coat and lays it across one of the stools. 

“Nah. Gossip. You see what everyone gets up to at night when they think people are asleep.”

“Mmhmm,” Castiel agrees, wondering what Dean was up to in this small hour before Castiel interrupted. He takes off his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt carefully, watching Dean as he busies himself around the sink. Dean cleans out the food and wipes the sink down before filling it with fresh wash water. 

Castiel joins him, pulling two crisp, clean towels from a stack on the far shelves. By unspoken agreement, he takes the clean dishes from Dean as they’re handed to him. Their hands brush together; their forearms touch, the fine hairs seeming to tangle and part like lovers torn asunder. 

Dean inhales sharply after a long period of companionable dishwashing. “I don’t want—“ Dishes clatter in the sink and his shoulders hunch upwards as though he could hide his face in them. Castiel sets the towel on the counter and leans on it. He can be silent. He can wait. 

“I don’t want to die,” Dean finally says. He picks up a plate and swirls it under the water. His hands are distorted by it, half hidden in bubbles and ripples. 

“I know.”

Dean turns burning eyes towards Castiel. They’re red-rimmed all the time now, colored by exhaustion and constant pain. “It’s not suicide. I’m not trying to—”

“I know. I—“ Castiel sighs. He meets Dean’s gaze, trying to convey a decade of words unsaid in the silence that burns between them. “I mis-spoke.” He takes the dish Dean hands to him and dries it automatically while he considers his words. Dean is like a bomb with rusty wires and leaking propellant. “I don’t want you to go,” Castiel tells him. It seems like the plainest thing to say, and most direct. “I would give anything to know that you are safe.” _Before I die_ , remains unspoken.

“It’s not your job to keep me safe.” Dean deposits a handful of cleaned cutlery on the counter. 

Castiel aggressively dries the forks and knifes, one by one. “It’s not your job to sacrifice yourself for the world! We’ll find another way.” His words are coming out clipped. Dean’s jaw tightens and it’s all going badly again. They’re locked in a battle with and against each other. 

“Yeah, well. We’ll see,” Dean mutters darkly. With quick motions he tosses the last of the silverware on the counter and then unplugs the sink. He pulls a damp dishtowel over to the counter and begins to wipe it down, shifting the collection of beer bottles they’ve been saving for Bradley’s home brew.

Castiel takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking. I was a vessel for Lucifer for some time. My— This body can—“

Dean has one of the beer bottles in hand and hurtling across the room before Castiel can finish his quiet suggestion. The bottle crashes into shards in the corner and Dean whirls on him, just as sharp and shattered. “No fucking way, Cas!”

Castiel meets his glare. “Well if it isn’t for me, then it isn’t for you.” It’s tempting to draw out the verbal knives again. In the nursing home, he’d hurled veiled insults at Dean, hurt by Dean’s failure to ask his opinion or even tell him about his plan in the first place. In that hallway, he’d called Dean “the other Winchester,” as though he could ever be anything but Dean - _Dean_ \- to him. 

Slowly, Castiel gathers his strength and forces himself to calm down. His shoulders relax; his fists unfurl. Carefully, he takes one deep breath, then another. He watches Dean mirror his de-escalation until finally he feels able to reach out one hand and anchor himself to Dean’s shoulder. “I won’t leave you to face this alone. Know that, at least.” 

Dean drops his head in what may have been the start of a nod, but ends in a defeated pose. He sighs. “Yeah. Fine.” Dean’s shoulder jerks towards the doorway and Castiel drops his hand, feeling like he’s somehow missed an opportunity to say or do the perfect thing that might save Dean once and for all. “You know what you can do for me right now?”

“No.”

“Keep me company? Got a movie in my room.” Dean rubs a strong finger down the line of his nose like he’s drawing it through a pool of tangible tension. 

“Of course,” Castiel assures him. He still has a knot of rage inside his chest, seething snakes twisting to cast doubt on their relationship, on his worth in the world, on the possibility of ever winning a single damn battle. “Anything.”

“Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull?”

Castiel huffs a laugh. “Not anything, actually.”

“Speed 2, it is.”

“Do I actually have to watch or—?”

Dean’s silent laughter is a spark of joy in the dark hallways of the bunker. Castiel vows to do whatever he can to keep it burning. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
